Afraid of the Dark
by criminally-dirty-mind
Summary: After Revelations, Both Spencer and J.J. need some absolution. ReidJ.J. fic full of angst and eventually smut. please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Afraid of the Dark

Pairing: Reid/J.J.

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: **Contains spoilers for Revelations!** Also, it is un-betaed, so read at your own risk. Good old smuts to get us through elicit drug use and violent flashbacks.

Legal shit: I own nothing but my two very spoiled dogs, so unless you want to keep them in the life they've become accustomed to, don't sue me.

He sat alone in the dark staring at his empty bed. He pulled his legs up to his chest and began to slowly rock without realizing he was moving. His fought to keep his eyes open, knowing what would appear as soon as they forced their way closed. His fingers found the small bump on the inside of his elbow, and they subconsciously traced it round and round. His eyes trailed over to his computer desk, and his satchel resting in the chair. He knew the vials were there, and he had needles for his allergy shots on top of his fridge. He stared at the bag waiting for absolution, and didn't notice when he involuntarily blinked, that his eyes did not immediately reopen.

Suddenly he found himself strapped to a chair in a cold wooden building. He surveyed his surroundings just in time to notice the ragged eyes staring at him. "Please," he heard himself whisper. "It helps, he'll be back," the man said, sounding both sad and scared. "No, please," he whispered again, as he felt the cool liquid burning his vein, and almost instantly felt his mind drift away.

He felt fingers running through his hair, and looked up to his mother's face. Her eyes were closed, yet she continued to recite Chaucer as though she was reading it to him. "Tonight you are my love," she whispered, as her eyes opened to meet his own. "Time for bed," she almost whispered. He slid from her bed and walked to the doorway, "Goodnight." She just nodded as she slipped into a drugged sleep even before he closed the door. He walked downstairs and unplugged the oven, pushed all the knives into the bread box, locked the garage door, and pulled the pill bottles from his pocket to make sure he hadn't missed any before he headed to his room. Locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of his bed and considered prayer. Putting the stolen pills in his pillowcase he slipped off his shoes and slid under the covers. Just to be safe he thought, inwardly he said a soft prayer to no one in particular, "Please, let me find someone who will love me always as she loves me when she can. Please, let my life matter to someone. Please, let someone care if I wake up."

It seemed like only moments passed and he was suddenly awoken by a harsh voice, "WAKE UP YOU SINNER!" Spencer violently fought against his restraints and found himself thrown upon his bedroom floor, jarred from sleep with the sharp contact of his shoulder blade against the cold wooden panels. He pressed his arm beneath himself to raise sore limbs. He slid his back against the chair, giving his bed an indignant look and deciding thoughts of his mother were better than thoughts of him.

He forced his lanky frame to stand, walking slowly to his bag and pulling out a vial. It felt cold and absolute between his fingers as he walked with purpose to his kitchen. His sock clad feet padding softly down the stairs. Just as he reached the kitchen door, his attention was turned to the video screen hanging at the end of the hall over his front door. Someone was standing on his porch. He set the bottle down on his sideboard, replacing its space in his hands with the cold steel of his firearm. He blinked twice to assure himself that he wasn't seeing things and silently stepped closer to the screen.

His gun fell to his side as his eyes focused on the slight blonde pacing back and forth in the snow, talking illegibly to herself. He stood for a moment confused; Why had she come here? Then, he noticed her shiver, and before he could give it a second thought he flipped the lock and swung the door open. Her bright blue eyes, clouded with pink veins, met his quickly. The confusion he felt mirrored in her own self doubt, neither spoke for a moment.

"Spence," she started, allowing her voice to fade, she had not intended to sound so frail. "J.J.?" he questioned, noticing her shiver again, he couldn't help but ask, "What are you doing out here, it's freezing." He wrapped his slim chest with his own arms, it hadn't occurred to him until this moment that he was wearing nothing over his wife beater and boxer briefs. Suddenly growing shy, he pressed open the glass door, "Come in, I need clothes." She stepped in, noticing for the first time herself his level of undress. She blushed and blocked her eyes with a gloved hand, "Sorry, I shouldn't have come. I should have called first, I should have…" Spencer had practically run up the stairs at the end of the hallway, but she heard him yell back, "No, it's ok."

As he stepped to the bottom stair he noticed that her hand was still blocking her eyes, and he couldn't help but smile. "Fully clothed now," he almost whispered, drawing her eyes once again to his. "Come in?" he offered after staring silently at her for a moment. "Thanks," she replied following his gesture into a comfortable living room, "I should have called first or something," she muttered. "Um, it's ok," he responded, "Why did you come here?" he asked after an awkward moment of silence and missed glances. She looked up at him again, and forced the tears she had been holding in to well up in her eyes.

"I wanted to make sure you were…" before she could finish her thought she looked away to allow the tears to fall against darkness. She looked back at him, his innocent face of concern and confusion, and continued, "I am so sorry." She began to cry openly and slid her face into her hands. He sat emotionless in his chair, watching her blame herself for his own stupid mistakes. He was the one who split them up; he was the one who could have gotten her killed. Despite all the natural fear he had for his own life, it was worry for her safety that haunted him through the whole endeavor. He had heard her scream, and had not yet forgiven himself for leaving her alone at the barn.

She made little noise, but her shoulders shook, and he could see tears sliding through her fingers. He looked at his side-bar, to the all but forgotten bottle and then slid slowly to the floor, long fingers reaching around her arms, forcing her to look up at him. "It wasn't your fault, it was mine," he whispered to her. His hands slid into her own, and she sniffled, "I watched you on the video and I knew it could have been me, I watched you die and I thought…" His own tears fell, and he cursed himself for being so quick to show his weakness to her. "I thought he got to you first. That was my only regret." She looked at him in disbelief, she had allowed him to be taken hostage, to be abused, broken with brutality and submitted to drugs, yet he had worried about her.

"Spence," she whispered, leaning her head into his shoulder and allowing herself to cry into his sweater. "I'm so sorry." He inhaled, taking in the soft smell of her hair, and forcing himself to enjoy the deepness of their touch. He rested his head against her own, and allowed her a moment to cry, her fingers curling around his neck and into his hair, as she leaned into him for strength and comfort. His arms slid around her, resting in the small of her back, holding her until her breathing leveled out, and her sniffles stopped, he smiled, realizing for the first time that she cared about him, she was worried about him.

He pulled back, surveying her face for emotion, reading the confusion and inner turmoil before allowing his mind to be won over by his desire, his chapped lips landing softly against hers that were so obviously pampered and even softer then he had imagined. To his great surprise she didn't pull away, instead, she leaned into him, her fingers once again finding their way into his hair. The kiss deepened, and his hands slid to cradle her body closer to his own, a whimper starting in her throat parting them for seconds. He didn't open his eyes, just leaned in, their foreheads resting against each other pressing hard for answers, for comfort, for absolution. Her eyes stayed closed as she turned her head ever so slightly to the side, again pressing her lips to his.


	2. Chapter 2

And now for the smut…mwah ha ha ha…

Title: Afraid of the Dark ch.2

Pairing: Reid/J.J.

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: **Contains spoilers for Revelations!** Also, it is un-betaed, so read at your own risk. Good old smuts to get us through elicit drug use and violent flashbacks.

Legal shit: I own nothing but my two very spoiled dogs, so unless you want to keep them in the life they've become accustomed to, don't sue me.

Suddenly his entire form shook. He fell back on his knees taken with fear. He was afraid of the dark, scared of beautiful women and worried by his potential to do things without thinking when in proximity to both. His hands covered his face, and he was lost in the darkness, calculating the chances that he could get to the bottle, and to the kitchen without her reacting. He was snapped back to reality by his name, "Spencer?" It was a question, not a statement, as though she was wondering if it was really him before her hiding behind thin fingers.

Again, "Spencer?" He stood, in a motion so fluid she hadn't known he was elegant enough to make, long legs unfolding to push his form so thin and tall he seemed to bump his head on the ceiling that he suddenly seemed to cast a shadow on her in the darkness. She shivered without knowing why, then reached impulsively to touch him as if to solidify the situation. He didn't flinch, but she heard him inhale, and reacted quickly to the pained sound. She stood, her small hands reaching around his wrists, forcing them from his face, her palm cupping his chin and causing their eyes to meet. "Spencer," that time it was more of a plea than a question, he could hear the desire for answers that he knew he couldn't give her.

He started to pull away from her, but she held firm, "Spencer?" she demanded. "J.J." he lipped without sound, "Spencer," she started before he closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheek. She leaned into his chest, her head resting on him comfortably, her hands letting go and sliding around his waist, pulling him close to her. She tried to fight the images of him falling into her arms in the graveyard out of her head, tried to hold him tight enough to force all worries for him away forever. Something clicked and his body betrayed him as he leaned against her. His arms slid around her shoulders pulling her even closer, aligning their heartbeats, slowing his breath.

"Spencer," she whispered against his sweater, her hands ringing it out of shape behind his back, refusing to loosen their grip. He lowered his head, smelling the nape of her neck, vanilla or cinnamon his mind wandered away as his fingers gently caressed her back, offering comfort without authorization. "You're ok," she whispered, more to herself than to him, his heartbeat reverberating through her entire body, encouraging the belief that he was alive and well. "I'm ok," he repeated back to the night, his eyes fluttering as he pulled her closer, his arms aching from the tension. His lips wouldn't listen any longer, and slowly he lined her neck with soft kisses. She turned her face to his own. They exchanged stares, profiled the deepness of each other's eyes, her sadness beating his fear with a desire to comfort her. She blinked, and he dug deep, felt like he was falling off a cliff as he leaned in and their lips met. She forced against him, needing more, as he opened to her quickly.

Her arms worked up his back, resting against his shoulders, pulling herself up to him against his lanky frame. She leaned into him, his arms pulling her in for more. He reminded himself to breathe and slid his mouth to her shoulder, kissing lightly as she rolled her head back to lend him more freedom with her body. A hand sliding her jacket and blouse to the side, kissing her lightly over the thin strap of her bra, he found encouragement in a slight moan leaking from her barely parted lips.

All thought lost to animal need; he found her lips again, claiming them with force and bravado he didn't know he had. He slid her jacket down her arms until it fell with a thud against the floor, his hands quickly forcing the buttons of her blouse to give way to his shaking fingers. His lips never leaving her neck, her earlobe, her jawbone, he pushed the blouse backwards against her shoulders, tangling in his hurry, she giggled, and he paused. Laughter opened his eyes, a smile spreading across her face; he smiled, and then worked harder to remove the momentarily forgotten shirt. His warm hands slid back up her still cold back, forcing an involuntary shiver down her spine, he claimed a nipple through the satin of her bra.

She struck out for the bottom of his sweater, forcing him to release her breast as she pulled it over his head, his wife beater clinging to it and instantly being discarded. She giggled again, her lips lingering against his firm chest, planting kisses wherever they landed, dizzy from the sensation of his lips on her breast, her bra lost and her fingers fighting to unzip his pants and forcing them down. Her hand slid beneath his shorts, gripping him, forcing him to shiver and press against her stomach. His fingers fumbled with her belt, and he whimpered when they failed to release the buttons of her slacks. She giggled against his mouth, reaching her hands to assist, easily sliding her slacks and panties to the floor before returning to stroke him hungrily. His hands rested in the curve of her hips, pulling her to him, forcing himself against her flat stomach.

One hand slid up her back, and encircled her neck, pulling it back, as he traced her chin to her breasts with a light dusting of kisses. His fingers tangled in her hair, he forced her head back again, kissing this time until her head fell forward and their lips met. Here, they reached an impasse, holding tightly, kissing lightly, each afraid to take another step, both refusing to take a step back. Her hands rested against his chest, his held in the small of her back, she kissed his neck, pausing for a fleeting second, then sliding a hand into his and she stepped towards the couch.

He allowed himself to be lead, watching the curve of her hips swivel and she stepped on tiptoe past the point of no return. She turned again, her face pressing lightly to his chest before leaning her head back and allowing his weight against hers to force them both to the couch. She shrieked at the coldness of the leather against her bare skin, and smiled into the kiss as he laughed lightly. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she pulled his lips into a tight embrace as he guided himself into her. He moaned, the tightness and warmth almost too much sensation, he forced himself to bite down on her shoulder to keep from crying out in pleasure.

She whimpered as he thrust into her, her legs winding around his, forcing him deeper within her. Silence and darkness drove the minute hand of the clock fiercely forward, the red lines from her nails on the sensitive skin of his neck ticking off his thrusts, their mouths seeking one another, their hips working in unison towards a common goal. He was driven by her quiet whimpers, the moans that almost seemed to form words of need, of gratitude, of release. "J.J." he whispered against her chest, again lightly claiming a nipple between teeth, followed by a guttural groan. His thrusts quickened as her hips loosened, her head falling back all muscle control lost to pleasure. He kissed her chin, thrusting deeply, relishing in her light cry as his body found the release it had so long needed.

She slid her arms around him, pulling him down onto her. Their bodies' full lengths touching, overlapping, entwining, as their jagged breaths slowed together. She kissed his neck, and her hands forced his face to her own, staring into his eyes all sadness replaced with certainty. He blinked, forcing himself to believe he wasn't dreaming, and closed his eyes again, leaning into her palm, allowing her embrace to comfort and confirm. His head lowered, he curled into her arms, resting against her chest, listening to her heart, still racing, and moving with her soft breath.

She pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over them, and kissed his forehead lightly. Her eyes followed his to their entwined fingers. He slid their hand open, pressing his long thin palm to her small one, her fingers twitching against his, then closing around one another again. He looked into her eyes, and found her lips barely, a lingering kiss bracing him into reality. "J.J." he whispered, laying his head against her chest again, "Spence," she whispered into his hair, comfort washing over her as she let her mind slowly shut down in the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

How awkward is the morning after? I mean seriously…have you ever had one too many drinks or one too many tears over the latest asshole, then suddenly woken up next to some other asshole and wondered for just a second where the hell you are, and just what in the hell you were thinking? No? Just me then…hmmm…ha ha ha…enjoy! (and review…I've become a review whore and I'm not too good to withhold chapters until I get enough cookies! j.k.) jen

Title: Afraid of the Dark ch.3

Pairing: Reid/J.J.

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: **Contains spoilers for Revelations!** Also, it is un-betaed, so read at your own risk. Good old smuts to get us through elicit drug use and violent flashbacks.

Legal shit: I own nothing but my two very spoiled dogs, so unless you want to keep them in the life they've become accustomed to, don't sue me.

He sat with his arms circling his knees, pulling them closer to his chest. He refused to close his eyes for the second time this night, but for completely different reasons than before. The shoulder of his sweater was still damp with her tears; he kept rubbing it against his skin to remind him that he was awake, that this was real. He had opened his eyes, and felt his eyelashes brush against her soft skin and felt a moment of panic. He had pulled himself gently from her sleeping form and recovered her without being noticed. He had always known she was a heavy sleeper from plane trips, but he had never known he could be so close to her and not wake her with his pounding heart. He had slid on his underwear and sweater and slipped into the lounger diagonal from the couch in order to gather his thoughts.

He rubbed his calves, folding in on himself as he attempted to sort through the odd chain of events that had lead him to this moment. He traced his memories back to the beginning; they had gone to check on a possible lead. In the car on the way to the house, she had made small talk, told jokes, and playfully slapped him three times. He always counted the number of times she touched him during the day, she seemed like a woman driven by physical contact.

At the house the man had seemed odd; he'd instantly suspected something and had attempted to get them entrance to his home. When the man refused he had followed his intuition and ended up stumbling upon the truth, the man was one of their unsubs. He had foolishly been caught spying, and had stupidly lead J.J. into danger with him chasing the man to the barn. He had left her, alone at the barn, and had followed the voices into a field. He heard her scream, she had called for him, and he had failed to come to her rescue. He had been certain at the time that she was dead, but his worry was turned to fear when he had been captured by a man, the man who he would come to find was much more than one of their unsubs.

He had been beaten, drugged, forced to face his death, but he was always sure that Gideon would find him. He had worried about what they might do when they found him, how they would punish him for losing J.J. How would he be able to live with himself after losing her? In the place of fear for his own destiny, he held regret over her suffering at all. He had resigned himself to any fate, anything was better than returning to work knowing that everyone knew he had lost her.

In the graveyard, they came as he knew they would. And behind Hotch, was the beautiful blonde, tears in her eyes, but with no visible injury. He had fallen into her arms prepared to beg for forgiveness, prepared to have her push him away. Instead, she had apologized, and she had held him so tight he had wondered if he was right in sensing that she had worried about him too. He was so confused that he could not respond, he was so tired that he had no energy left to fight for his due punishment. Weeks had passed, they had worked other cases, and everyone on the team seemed colder to her and warmer to him. The drugs called to him as the only moments in the last month that had made any sense at all. Then she was on his porch, her hands were on his face, her lips on his lips, he could feel her breasts rising and falling beneath him, he still felt the tingle of sensation from her touch on his entire body, he could still hear her whimpers echoing through his silent living room.

She was beautiful as she slept. Her eyes had been so sad earlier, now her long lashes seemed to rest upon her cheeks as she gently drew and dismissed breath. She slept perfectly still, only the slight crest and lull of her chest to show life. A strand of her blonde hair fell lightly against her face, and he reached instinctively to press it behind her ear the way she would if she were awake.

His fingers grazed her cheek, causing her eyes to flutter open. It startled him, but he could not pull his hand back, his fingers were determined to finish their mission. Her fingers met his own at her ear and tucked the hair into place. Then he pulled back, staring quietly into her eyes, waiting for anything. She pulled herself up into a seated position, her feet tucked neatly beneath her, and the blanket carefully covering her curves. The two seemed frozen in the moment, neither sure what to say or do.

She shivered, and the spell was broken. "Are you cold?" he asked, his voice wavering. "Yes," she whispered, even as he slipped from his chair and returned moments later with a heavier blanket. He carefully began wrapping it over her, her hand catching his at her shoulder. "Spencer?" she said, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Yes?" he asked, before sitting next to her on the couch, unable to force his legs to move him farther from her. "Is this ok?" He paused, giving himself a moment to consider her meaning, studying her face for a clue at the correct answer. "Is..is what ok?" he stuttered. "This," she started, reaching for his hand and holding it against her leg. "You and me, and me naked on your couch, and me coming to you for forgiveness and taking emotional strength from you physically?" He blinked, what did she mean? Was she asking him if it was ok with him that she was naked? He had been lost at that word. "What?" he managed to ask out loud.

"Spencer," she started, taking a deep breath, "I had no right to come here last night and ask for anything from you. So, know that I have no expectations. I understand that you were emotional, and I took advantage of that, and…" "Wait," Spencer was beginning to understand her line of thought, "You think you took advantage of me?" J.J. didn't blink, refused to show her weakness, "I'm just saying I don't want you to feel bad about what happened, I don't want you to regret it or…" "J.J.!" he stopped her by raising her voice, he couldn't listen to any more. "J.J." he lowered his voice and softened his tone, "I will never regret having had a chance to be with you. I hope that you don't…" "No," she interrupted, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

As he wiped it away, she pressed her face against his hand. He slid his fingers around her neck and pulled her into his arms. She shifted her body so that her back rested against his chest, their arms locked together wrapped around her stomach. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and looked up at him, "I thought I lost you," she whispered, tears flowing freely onto his sweater. "I thought I lost you," He whispered back, burying his face in her hair, kissing her gently on the top of her head. She scoffed through tears and forced herself closer into him, allowing his warmth to soak into her. Noticing how damp her pillow was she quietly whined, "Sorry I got your sweater all wet."

Spencer thought about it for a moment and couldn't help but laugh out loud at her silly concern. How 'J.J.' to worry about his clothing, never mind that they had had sex, or were lying in each other's arms. She released a whiny moan, and then gently slapped his chest before joining him in laughter. The two sat for a long while, laughing together. They no longer looked like two FBI agents who had dealt with serious trauma; they looked like a pair of young lovers, laughing about nothing, enjoying one another's warmth. This thought crossed Spencer's mind, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like everything in the world might just be ok. "It's cold in here," she muttered through her laughter. He looked down and her, "No, it's just wet," he said, pressing against his sweater. "Hey!" she cried, and both broke into another bout of laughter.


End file.
